


I Tried to Be the Hero

by myglassesaredirty



Series: Whump Week [1]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blindfolds, Broken Bones, Chains, DEFINITELY NOT FUCKING ROMANTICIZED, Gen, Heart Attacks, Heavy Angst, Hyperventilation, Kidnapping, Pedophilia, Rescue, Rope Bondage, Serial Killers, THE PEDOPHILE IS A VERY BAD DUDE, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, am i messed up for writing whump like this, bound and gagged, but not the sexy kind, but that's for later, child kidnapping, damn i love that trope sm, dawn don't answer this is a mental exercise for everyone who reads this, it's safe to assume that every chapter centers around kidnapping, jealous ex, more kidnapping, nothing here is meant to be sexy i feel like i have to clarify, paralyzed with fear, today will hurt, we're talking this dude who's like. messed up in the head, where is the satisfaction?, whump week, why do we write whump?, young karen vick shows up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/pseuds/myglassesaredirty
Summary: The idea of joining law enforcement is, in part, that your family will be safer if you do. People will be less inclined to kidnap your children or your significant other.Maybe not so much in the case of the Spencers, both old and young.





	1. But All My Superpowers Failed to Save

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobinsonsWereHere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/gifts), [Howlingdawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlingdawn/gifts).



> This is, indeed, going to be a whump week, but I want you all to be aware of how this is going to work! I have three tumblr requests for whump, and this fic compilation will be where I put the requests. As for my other two ideas, those are their own stories that cannot come alongside this fic. I will hopefully have all of it done by Saturday.
> 
> First prompt is for: **"If you don't comply, I will kill all of them, one by one."**

They had gotten a lead on the case they were currently working. That was how this all started. While Shawn and Gus were alternately glaring at Lauren and Nick to keep them from kissing and chasing around Lassiter’s youngest and while Juliet entertained Lily and Erin by teaching them complicated braids, the lead came through, and they all debated over where they would take the kids from there. Gus wasn’t going to put his wife through the agony of having five children to handle without help. Carlton and Marlowe are out on a date for the first time in months, and none of them – not even Juliet – wants to interrupt that date.

 

This results in them all piling up in Gus’s SUV and driving to the Spencer house. Henry, rocking on the porch swing, merely quirks an eyebrow, sets his lemonade to the side, and waits for the flow of children to come barreling into his house. He has no time to warn Maddy about the stampede.

 

Juliet smiles apologetically at Henry as she squeezes through the front door, Gus on her heels. “Nick, get  _ back _ here! I better not find you making out with Lauren!”

 

Nick pokes his head around the corner. “Nana Spencer made snickerdoodles.”

 

Gus raises his eyebrows and pushes past them. “Oh, I better have me some of those.”

 

Shawn shakes his head fondly and turns to his father, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. “How are you doing, Dad?”

 

Henry stops massaging his chest and looks up at Shawn with raised eyebrows. “What? Oh.” His hand falls. “I’m doing fine, Shawn, I promise.”

 

Shawn quirks one eyebrow. “Are you eating red meat?”

 

“N– Shawn, you know that’s the only other thing I know how to make other than chicken soup.”

 

Shawn clenches his jaw. “Doctor’s orders, Dad. You’re going to give yourself another heart attack.” His eyes focus on the glass of lemonade. “What about beer? Are you drinking any of that?”

 

Henry shakes his head. “The only alcohol I have is one glass of red wine a week. That’s doctor’s orders, Shawn.”

 

“You doing any mild exercise?”

 

Henry huffs, and his right arm twitches, as if he wants to massage his chest. “Shawn, I –”

 

“Dad!” Shawn glances over his shoulder and takes a seat next to his father on the swing. “I just don’t want you to have another attack.” Mosquitoes buzz around his ear, and he swats them away. “You’ve survived much worse – a gunshot to the chest, a dozen other bullet wounds, a bomb threat. You’re not invincible.” He nods to the kitchen window, where he can see Lauren perched on the kitchen counter, waving a snickerdoodle in front of Nick’s face. “Lauren was worried sick when we got the news of you having a heart attack. You’re her hero, Dad, and the thought of losing you made her throw up. Take care of yourself. If not for Mom and me, then for her.”

 

Henry sighs and scratches his eyebrow. “I go on two walks with your mother every morning and evening. Both of them last anywhere from half an hour to forty-five minutes, and I never exert myself too hard. I’m eating healthier, drinking less alcohol, and working out more than I have since you were a kid.” He reaches for Shawn’s knee and squeezes it once. “I’m older than you think I am, son. Eighty…” he chuckles to himself. “Eighty sure does sound old, but it feels even older. You have to realize that.”

 

Shawn sighs heavily. “I know. It’s just…I don’t know, I guess I always figured you were invincible when I was a kid. Not even bullets could take you down, so I just think it’s fucking stupid that your own heart can.”

 

Henry laughs softly. “Well, we are our own worst enemy.” He takes a drink from his lemonade. “So, tell me: why are you, Juliet, and Gus hanging around when you’re all clearly here to drop the kids off?”

 

Shawn nods to the SUV that pulls up in front of the house. “Because Lassie also has to drop off Marlowe. We have a case.”

 

*

 

When they get to the warehouse, Shawn is nearly 100% certain that something is wrong. It doesn’t…feel like a place where junkies store their goods, nor where any drug deal would go down. To be fair, Juliet and Lassie would know more about the reliability of a warehouse doubling as a drug storage facility, but that’s neither here nor there.

 

After they step into the dusty space, the four of them look around. “We should split up,” Lassie says, pulling his gun from his holster. “O’Hara, you take your husband and go left. I’ll take Guster and go right.”

 

Shawn raises his hand. “Why, pray tell, do I not get to go with my best friend?”

 

Lassie raises his eyebrows. “Because you may very well need a gun, and neither you nor Guster is licensed to carry one, a), and b) you don’t own one. It’s safer for you both if we split up, cop with private detective.”

 

Shawn flutters his eyelashes at him. “Lassie, you know me better than that.”

 

“I’m not saying that you’re a fucking psychic detective, you told me you weren’t the day after Lauren was born, don’t give me that crap.”

 

Juliet rolls her eyes and grabs her husband’s elbow. “We’re going now, Carlton, thanks.”

 

Shawn follows behind her closely. He may not be as physically fit as she is, but as soon as he heard he was going to be a father, he called up Lassie and asked for physical training. He knew his wife wouldn’t always be able to protect their daughter, and if the situation ever called for it, he wanted to be prepared to defend his pregnant wife. The situation never arose, but he is far more physically fit than he used to be. Juliet trusts him to have her six just as much as she trusts Carlton.

 

Shawn’s eyes rove over every inch of the warehouse. Nothing seems out of the ordinary – no crates, no bags, no odd smell. The dust particles that swarm in the air are nothing short of normal. “Jules,” he whispers, his breath fanning the back of her neck, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

 

She bites her bottom lip. Though her gun hasn’t shaken since the day he met her, he thinks he can imagine a slight wobble. It’s straight and pointed right in front of her. “You, too, huh?”

 

He nods. “Either this was a false lead, or everyone has packed up. We should go back for Gus and Lassie.”

 

Juliet sighs, though she doesn’t holster her weapon. “I think you’re right.”

 

When they get back to the entryway, they see a splatter of blood on the floor. One of Lassie’s shoes is missing. A button from Gus’s shirt lies helplessly next to Lassie’s shoe.

 

Shawn’s knees shake. Juliet leans into his side. “Oh, God.”

 

*

 

The situation is more dire than they thought at first. At first, they thought it was going to be the standard protocol for going after a kidnapped cop, but when they arrive back at the station, both of them holding back tears, Karen greets them with a grave face and a burner phone.

 

“We have a message,” she says. Nothing else leaves her lips. She just heads to the bullpen, hooks the burner phone up to the projector, and stands back.

 

Juliet and Shawn stand at the back. The screen flickers a few times before a deep voice floats through the station.

 

**“Well, well, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer. What a nice family you have here. Though, Mr. Spencer, your father is weaker than I expected. Let me get to the point: I want $3.7 million, preferably in cash. You have 48 hours to get the money to me. If you don’t comply, I will kill all of them, one by one.”**

 

The screen flickers one last time, and a picture fades onto the screen. Lauren and Nick hang upside down in chains, duct tape covering their mouths. Her brown eyes are wide with fear, and based on her position in relation to Nick, she was trying to swing free when the picture was taken. Nick’s eyes are wrenched shut. Carlton, Marlowe, Gus, Henry, and Maddy are all strapped to separate chairs. Blood trails down Lassie’s face, and the effort it takes him to open his eyes indicates that he had just woken up. A gag presses into Marlowe’s mouth, and it’s dirty, rotten brown. Neither Maddy, Gus, nor Henry have gags, but Henry’s arms are wrenched uncomfortably tight behind him. The last three kids, the Lassiter children, are all bound. They’ve been haphazardly tossed onto the ground, feet tied together, hands behind their backs, gags choking them.

 

The amount of blood is staggering.

 

Shawn leans against one of the pillars. “Where in the hell are we going to get 3.7 million in two days?”

 

Karen purses her lips and glances down at the floor. “Mr. Spen– Shawn, we can’t pay that money.”

 

Shawn laughs bitterly, too tired to push off the pillar or to run a hand through his hair. “Did you not hear? Almost everyone I love is in that– probably in some guy’s basement, and if we don’t give him the money he wants, they’re going to die!”

 

Karen nods. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but it’s against protocol. We can’t pay the money. He’ll get away with it, and then everyone in this department is an accessory to kidnapping and attempted murder.”

 

Juliet finds Shawn’s hand and squeezes it. “Chief, I know– I know we can’t, but…” She presses her lips together into a thin line. “You know Henry has heart problems. If we don’t get them out of this situation as soon as possible, then he’s going to die, whether or not the criminal kills him.”

 

Karen’s eyes harden. “I’m well aware, Detective. Henry Spencer was my first partner on the force. He’s one of my closest friends.” She takes a step forward. “I want to pay that ransom, and it isn’t even my own family. But if we do, we fail to do our jobs.”

 

Shawn licks his lips. “What if we arranged to make a drop? Gave him fake money and then arrested him immediately?”

 

Karen’s mouth falls open, and she turns her attention from Juliet to Shawn. “Are you suggesting that we commit counterfeit?”

 

Shawn shakes his head rapidly. “No, I’m saying get enough Monopoly money that it feels like 3.7 million. I have no idea how much that bag would have to weigh. Or get chocolate bars. Reams of paper.  _ Something _ so that he’s convinced that we’re giving him the money.”

 

Karen bites on her bottom lip. “You know, Mr. Spencer, that’s not…actually a bad idea.”

 

Buzz, standing next to the projector, raises his hand. “Chief? Shawn does have a good suggestion, but based on the wounds Lassiter and Gus have in this picture, it looks…well, it looks like something that the Spider Murderer would do.”

 

Shawn rolls his eyes. “Isn’t he, like, the exact opposite of Spiderman? Why do we even pay attention to this guy? He’s a wannabe supervillain!”

 

Juliet steps away from her husband and glares at him. “He’s killed fifteen people, Shawn. Maybe he  _ is _ a wannabe supervillain, but we need to take him seriously. He always kidnaps his victims first, and he usually does large groups like this. He asks for some outlandish ransom, always gives the families 48 hours, and sends a picture.” She points to the picture on the projector. “No matter how many people he kidnaps, he structures it the same every time: one or two hanging upside down, a few tied to the chairs, and a few bound and thrown on the ground.”

 

Shawn looks between the picture and his wife. “I still don’t see why we can’t give him fake money.”

 

“Because, Shawn,” she says, taking a step toward the projector, “he gives you a drop site. He never meets anyone there. If there is no money, or if there are cops, or if you try and negotiate with him, he starts killing one of the victims. We can’t trick him.”

 

He clenches his jaw. “Maybe you can’t, Jules. Maybe you guys, in all your legality, can’t trick him because of all the laws the justice system makes you follow. But I can trick him.”

 

“Trust me, Shawn.” She smiles sadly. “You can’t. This guy is smarter than Yin, and less patient. If we try and dupe him, I promise, we will lose everyone we love.”

 

Shawn sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “So, what do we do?”

 

Buzz holds up some old case files. “How about we start by looking through these?”

 

*

 

They get there in 36 hours.

 

The Spider Murderer turns out to be an exterminator for Eric’s Exterminating Endeavors. He isn’t actually Eric, but the Spider Murderer’s name, based on what Buzz can recall off the top of his head, is Mason Hock. The reason he got Lassie, aside from slamming a tire iron into his skull, was because of the poisonous gases he carries around for exterminating. The “spider” part came about both because he loved Spiderman but felt he could not become Spiderman and because he exterminates spiders on the regular.

 

Tears stream down Lauren’s face when the cops burst into Hock’s house. Shawn tries to push past Juliet and the chief to get to his daughter, but Buzz holds him back. Lauren jerks against the chains and screams. The duct tape muffles her voice, but they can still hear her.

 

Aside from a little extra blood on the kids, no one looks any worse for the wear. Shawn nearly breathes a sigh of relief that they got there in time, but his eyes follow his daughter’s gaze to Henry.

 

Henry’s chest isn’t moving.

 

“Dad?!” Shawn shouts, slipping out of Buzz’s grasp. “Dad, wake up! Come on, we’re here!”

 

Karen tackles Hock. She may or may not slam his head into the ground with more force than necessary. Buzz and Juliet make their way to Lauren and Nick first.

 

Maddy shakes her head. “He’s dead, Shawn.” Her voice sounds so tired, and her eyes are dead. She turns her face to look at him, but she doesn’t see him. She looks straight through him. “He had another heart attack when the son of a bitch put out his cigarette on Lauren’s arm. He’s been dead for less than an hour.”

 

Lauren falls from the chains, but Juliet catches her. Lauren curls into her mother’s embrace and sobs. “Grampo,” she chokes out.

 

Dobson takes Hock from the basement. Karen turns around and releases a shaky breath when she sees Henry’s body. “Heart attack?”

 

Shawn nods. “I just– I can’t do this anymore, Chief.” He unties Gus, and Gus immediately tugs him into his arms.

 

They both lost a father. Lauren lost a hero. Maddy lost a husband.

 

And Shawn…

 

Shawn lost the man he wanted to become.


	2. Please Save Me (I Can't Hold on for Much Longer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Maddy/Henry: "You have something I want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-imposed deadlines are. Stressful, to say the least. I am very glad I got this one out, though, thank goodness. There is a bit of Greek in here, and I translated two sentences later, so we're good.

_ Maddy tosses her legal pad onto Henry’s desk. Without looking up, Henry pushes away from his desk, eyes still trained on his paperwork. She crawls onto his lap and rests her head on his shoulder. “What time do you leave today?” she asks, smoothing his police shirt. _

 

_ He smiles softly and signs off on the case. Closing the folder, he pushes it aside and says, “I have to be here until seven. I’ll head home right after that.” _

 

_ Maddy huffs. “I know that Herb is your boss, but really, it sucks that we’re married and we hardly spend time together.” _

 

_ He looks up from his paperwork, a devilish grin creeping onto his face. “I mean, true, but when we  _ are _ together,” he says lowly, eyes flicking from her face to her lips to her neck, “we make the absolute most of it.” _

 

_ She rolls her eyes. “You’re annoying.” _

 

_ “You love me.” _

 

_ She presses a kiss to his forehead and stands up. “Well, I have homework to take care of. I’ll see you at home.” _

 

_ He squeezes her hand. “I love you, Mad.” _

 

Henry groans and pushes himself up. The concrete floor dips around him, and his left hand slips, causing him to fall chin-first back onto the concrete. Deciding that maybe getting up is not the wisest decision in the world, he rolls onto his back and slowly sits up.

 

“God.” He smacks his tongue. “What happened?” The floor alone indicates that he didn’t make it home, and he is of the firm belief that neither pain nor concrete warehouses exist in heaven, so that leaves a kidnapping.

 

In his four years as a police officer, he has never heard of a police officer being kidnapped. Well, that is not entirely true. He’s heard of police officers being kidnapped in sensitive high-profile cases, especially if the FBI was involved with the case and they were going after a drug ring. But a police officer being kidnapped on his way home from work? That should not have happened, and it never should have happened to Henry.

 

Did he even get to his truck? That’s the better question. Likely not, but he remembers leaving the police station, and his head didn’t hurt. He was in the driver’s seat, and there was no one else in the truck.

 

He furrows his brow and shakes his left hand to look at his watch. “Oh, God,” he says, looking around the empty room wildly. It’s been three hours since he left the station. Three hours that he’s missing from his memory.

 

His head pulses in protest, and he hisses in pain, curling into himself. He tenderly touches his fingers to the side of his head, and blood stains his fingertips when he pulls his hand away.

 

That explains the lack of memory and the headache of his life.

 

The door at the far side of the room swings open, and Clint Everdale glares at him. Ropes hang from his arms. “I expected you to stay out longer.”

 

Henry rolls his eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He tries to push himself up to a standing position, but his legs refuse to cooperate, and he falls back to the ground with a thud.

 

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

 

Henry presses a hand to his head wound. “Did you drug me or something?”

 

Clint slowly claps his hands. “Congratulations, Henry! I’m proud of you!” He untangles the rope and sauntes in Henry’s direction. “It’s a local anesthetic. I wanted to give you some hard drugs, narcotics, but that wouldn’t be any fun.” When he stands right in front of Henry, he kneels to the ground. “You would have been high and jumping off the walls. I didn’t want that. And if I had given you enough to knock you out, you would have been out for a while.”

 

Henry glares at him. “Why did you take me?”

 

Clint smirks and moves to Henry’s back. “I should think that’s obvious, Henry. Use your head.”

 

Henry jerks his arms away from Clint, but his muscle movement is hindered due to the drugs still swirling through his system. “You slammed me in the head with something. I can barely process who the hell you are.”

 

Clint grits his teeth, grabs a fistful of Henry’s hair, and pulls. “Stop tensing up,” he says through clenched teeth, “or I swear to God, I’ll wrap this rope around your throat.” He lets go of Henry’s hair, and Henry gasps in relief.

 

“Okay, no flexing. Got it.”

 

Clint twists Henry’s arms and pins them in between his shoulder blades. Before Henry’s hands can fall, Clint wraps another rope around Henry’s chest, ties it to keep his hands in place, and stands up. “Stay there,” he says, a grin on his face, “I misjudged how much rope I would need.”

 

“Hey, Clint.” Henry waits until Clint turns around, then he grins innocently. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

Clint smirks and taps his index finger against his lips. “You know what, Henry? I think I will.” He leans into his face. “And I’ll be thinking of your pretty little wife the entire time.”

 

“I swear to fucking God…”

 

Clint starts back for the door, waving his hand dismissively. “I know, I know: you’ll kill me.” He pivots and walks backward, eyes trained on Henry the entire time. “But the thing is you can’t. That is, what people call in some parts of the country, police brutality.”

 

“I hope you fucking go to hell.”

 

Clint chuckles. “I don’t believe in God, Henry, but if I did, I figure that he would probably forgive me. Isn’t that the point of Christianity?”

 

*

 

Level One on the Madeleine Spencer Stress Scale is playing with her hair. Usually, this occurs when Henry comes in a little late from work, or if he called and said he would come home late. Usually, there’s nothing to worry about, but she knows enough about his job and line of work that she can’t help but be concerned.

 

Level One consists of four different sublevels. Level 1A means that Maddy twists her hair around her index finger. This occurs most often when she knows that traffic is the only thing holding Henry back from walking in the door. Once, when they first started dating, she kept twisting her hair around her finger because Henry had to tell his boss that he was in an inter-department relationship with her, and she was worried that they would have to date in secret. (Though, if she was being honest, dating in secret gave her a bit of a thrill).

 

Level 1A is nothing. Level 1A is also reserved for tests at school. Not just tests that she didn’t study for, it applies to all tests. It applies to quizzes and waiting for the professor to post the grades and she’s standing in front of the wall.

 

Now, Level 1B is more reserved for tests she was foolish enough not to study for. Instead of twisting her hair around her finger, she chooses a strand of hair and tugs on it. Occasionally, if this reaches the double sublevel of Level 1B.2, she’ll combine twisting her hair around her finger and tugging on the strand of hair. Level 1B.2 is for finals, midterms, and Henry’s more sensitive cases.

 

Oh, and doctor’s appointments. Especially with an OBGYN. She and Henry have had bad luck with OBGYNs, though it isn’t exactly the doctor’s fault of what’s wrong with her.

 

Level 1C is the point where you want to calm Maddy down. This is almost exclusively reserved for Henry, though she has been known to reach this level with her first pregnancy. It ended, unfortunately, before they could find out the sex of the baby, and she had known that she had miscarried. She was spotting more than normal, after all.

 

When Maddy reaches Level 1C, she combs her hands through her hair. The speed of her combing pace depends on how close she is to either Level 1B or Level 1D. If she’s closer to the lower end of the scale, the combing looks almost as if she’s trying to get tangles out of her hair. If she’s closer to the higher end of the scale, well…her anxiety shows.

 

Level 1D is exclusive to Henry alone. She splits her hair into three parts and starts braiding it. This, like Level 1B, has a sublevel. Level 1D.2 means that she also starts unbraiding her hair before she starts the process all over again. This is when he’s part of a case that he can’t tell her much about, usually related to a kidnapping, homicide, and/or a drug case.

 

Level 2, like Level 1, has four sublevels, but the severity of the sublevels is indicative of how much time Henry has gone without calling to tell her that he’s alright or how dangerous criminals are in the case he’s a part of.

 

The list is as follows:

Level 2A – playing with her ring, twisting it around

Level 2B – drumming her fingers against a hard surface, usually a quick pace that can, on occasion, resemble a song

Level 2C – tapping her foot or jiggling her leg. Madeleine Spencer doesn’t jiggle unless she reaches this level

Level 2D – pacing back and forth without pause, often pushing her hair away from her face. The more extreme version of this level of anxiety can involve her murmuring Bible verses under her breath, psychological facts, Greek, or reasons why Henry is going to be alright

 

Level 3, unlike the first two levels on the Madeleine Spencer Stress Scale, only has two settings. Level 3A starts with her counting to one thousand by seven, and if Henry is still off the radar, counting backwards by twelve. Level 3B – the one right before she hits a full blown panic attack – involves her counting to two thousand in Greek by the same increments.

 

Maddy has blown through levels 1A to 3A in the span of one hour. It’s a new record, and Brett is about to sit her ass down in the kitchen chair. Slapping a piece of duct tape over her mouth won’t help matters, either, but nothing will calm her down, and admittedly, he’s worried, too. Henry always calls Maddy if he’s going to be more than half an hour after when he said he was getting home. He calls if he expects to be late. He never has, nor will he ever, willingly be three hours gone without ever contacting Maddy or him.

 

She was right to come to his place.

 

She looks up at him, fingers twisting through her hair. “ Ísos aplá épese se éna stenó fílo kai apofásise na kalýpsei. Ísos's giatí's argá.”

 

Brett squeezes her shoulder. “Maddy. English. You know I can speak English and a little Spanish. No one knows Greek except for you.”

 

She smiles tightly and wipes her palms on her pants. “Maybe he just ran into an old friend and decided to catch up. Maybe that’s why he’s late.” Her mouth forms awkwardly around the words, and Brett wonders if it’s because she just switched quickly between languages or if it’s because she’s about to panic. Maybe it’s both.

 

Sharon comes into the kitchen, holding two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands. “I have one with marshmallows for you, Maddy.”

 

Maddy gratefully takes it and sips at the hot cocoa. “It’s just…he’s never been this late before.”

 

Brett leans against the wall. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

 

Sharon quirks an eyebrow at him, and Brett makes a face warning her not to do that when Maddy can see her.

 

Maddy bites her thumbnail. “Could Henry have left me?”

 

Brett chokes on his saliva. “Of course not, Maddy. If I know Henry at all, he would rather eat his own foot than leave you. He loves you. When he talks about you, it’s like nothing else matters to him except you, and he wants to do anything to make you happy. He watches horror movies. He wouldn’t even do that for a hundred dollars before he met you.”

 

She smiles softly. “So, he didn’t leave and there’s no mistress that we know of.”

 

Brett shakes his head. “There’s no mistress, period. He only leaves the station on official police business, with you, with me, or after work. He spends nights with you, and I highly doubt he would even attempt to sneak out. There’s no way he could possibly be cheating on you.”

 

Maddy swirls her cinnamon stick around in her hot cocoa. “I don’t know what’s worse: the idea that he would ever cheat on me or not knowing where he is.”

 

Brett pulls out a kitchen chair and straddles it. “I’d say the latter. Your brain is going to make up a bunch of scenarios that don’t match.”

 

She bites her bottom lip and pushes the mug away. “What do you think happened, Brett?”

 

He glances at his wife and rests his forearms on the top of the chair. “I don’t think I should say.”

 

She nods slightly. “You think he’s in danger, don’t you? Maybe not murdered, maybe not kidnapped, maybe not tossed into a fucking ditch, but somehow in danger.”

 

Brett opens his mouth to refute her, but there is no use. He just nods slowly. “I don’t know exactly what happened to him, Maddy, but we can’t do anything for 48 hours or until we get enough evidence that something did happen to him. I wish they would get rid of that law.”

 

Maddy twists her mug of hot chocolate around and pulls it closer to her. “You and me both.”

 

*

 

Blood dribbles from Henry’s lips, but Clint cares nothing for that, instead grabbing a fistful of Henry’s hair and wrenching his head to the side.

 

Henry pants, his breaths shallow. His chest can barely move because of how tightly Clint tied the rope around his chest, and the cracked ribs definitely don’t help his breathing. “Can’t you just give me one fucking break?”

 

Clint grits his teeth, presses his foot to Henry’s chest, and pushes him into the wall. “You have something I want. I’m not going to stop until I get it.” He touches the tip of his knife to Henry’s cheek, gently tracing the outline of a C on his skin, though not nearly hard enough to break the skin. The metal reflects in the light.

 

Henry’s eyes focus on the knife. Knives are his least favorite weapon. They can inflict more tortuous damage on a victim than any bullet could. Guns kill people quickly or they don’t kill them at all. Knives can kill people slowly, kill people quickly, force them to bleed for the sake of bleeding, or they can just hurt because the perp wants it to hurt. They cut through the skin and across the bone, bone that is, in some places, so tough that it’s as strong as concrete.

 

Clint presses the tip of the blade into Henry’s skin, drawing a single drop of blood. “Give it to me.”

 

Henry spits out more blood. His nose feels dried and crusty, red fuzz colors the edge of his vision, and his mouth tastes like metal. He needs a hospital.  _ “What _ do you want? Money? I can give you what I have.”

 

Clint laughs, tucks the knife into his belt, and backhands Henry. “I don’t want what’s in your fucking  _ wallet,  _ Henry. I want your wife.”

 

If Henry had either the energy or the range of motion, he would slam his head into Clint’s body. As it is, he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood (had it not already been bleeding) and glares at him. “I don’t know why the fuck you think you asking is going to get you anything.”

 

Clint pulls his foot away from Henry’s chest and grabs his chin. “You listen to me, you fuckwad: if you don’t give me what I want, I will continue to hurt you, and I will fucking torture you until you’re either dead or until I get what I want.”

 

“She won’t marry you, no matter what you do.” Henry’s eyelids feel heavy, but he blinks away the fogginess. “She recognizes you for the monster you are, and she won’t forget it. Don’t expect her to. She’s smarter than that.”

 

Clint growls and shoves Henry away from him. “You’re going to fucking regret this.”

 

Henry looks at him past his bloodied eyelashes. “Do you never stop to think that she stopped seeing you because you do act like this? Does that never occur in your mind?”

 

Clint grabs Henry by the shirt and slams his back into the wall. “Shut up!”

 

Henry gasps for air and slumps into Clint’s arms. His wrists hurt more than they have been. “It’s not my choice to make for her.”

 

Clint glares at him, releases Henry’s shirt, and turns him around forcefully. “Alright, you want to do it this way? We’ll do it this way.” He unties the rope from Henry’s hands, jerking them down to a normal position, and ties them again, this time so tightly that the rope digs into his skin. “I’ll be back in just a second.”

 

When Clint leaves, Henry turns his head to the side and coughs. The action hurts his ribs, but he doesn’t have much choice. Blood spurts from his mouth, and Henry leans against the wall, lolling his head. All he wanted was to go home. He stopped by the grocery store to get his wife some flowers. That was all that was supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

 

(He wasn’t supposed to be here.)

 

*

 

Henry’s breaths come in shallow bursts. His vision swims before him: one instant, Clint is in front of him, waving a cigarette butt in his face; Henry blinks once, and Clint disappears. The cigarette butts never touch his skin – if they do, Henry’s body has numbed itself to pain in an effort to keep him conscious for as long as possible.

 

This time, Clint waves a hammer in front of Henry’s eyes. Henry tries to speak around the gag in his mouth, but the mildew chokes him. Clint forces him to a sitting position and stretches out his legs. Before, Henry had never caught the two little rings jutting out from the concrete. Even now, he doesn’t understand why they’re there or when they were put there. Clint ties his legs together, shackles his ankles, and chains each ankle to the little rings.

 

Henry twitches against his binds.

 

Clint tosses the hammer in the air and catches it easily. “Last chance, Henry: will you give me your wife or will I have to hurt you?”

 

Henry hopes his eyes convey what his mouth can’t say:  _ go to hell. _

 

Clint shrugs. “I guess we’re doing it this way, then.” He raises the hammer high in the air and brings it crashing down on Henry’s left kneecap.

 

Henry screams in pain. White-hot light explodes behind his eyes, and he falls to his side. Tears run hot and fast down his face, and the pain keeps screaming, keeps screaming, keeps screaming.

 

The world is black. Clint’s body swims before him. The world is bright. He can’t decide. His heart beats too fast. He wants this to end. He wants it to be over.

 

*

 

They told her to stay behind, that it was too dangerous for her to follow them inside. Brett, knowing her better than any other officer (save Henry, of course), tosses her his bulletproof vest and tells her to be careful and stay close behind him at all times.

 

Henry writhes on the ground, his legs tied tightly together, hands pinned behind his back. Clint stands over him, a hammer in hand.

 

Maddy rolls her eyes. “Of fucking course it was Clint.”

 

Brett raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “SBPD, drop your weapon!”

 

Clint turns around, tilting his head back. “Madeleine,” he says, “I was hoping to see you.”

 

Maddy lifts her middle finger in the air. “Go to fucking hell, you bastard.”

 

Brett takes a couple steps forward. “Drop your weapon, Mr. Everdale.”

 

Clint winces. “See, I’m not going to talk to you. I’ll only speak to Madeleine.”

 

Maddy’s eyes flicker to Henry. Henry, even in his pain, rolls onto his back. His chest rises too quickly to be safe, and she wants to go to him, wants to gently run her hands over every one of his wounds and kiss them better. She wants to hold her husband, wants to thank God that he’s alright. None of that will happen if Clint won’t drop the fucking weapon.

 

She sighs heavily. “Fine.” She steps around Brett. “You have my husband. I want him back.”

 

Clint smirks. “Come back to me.”

 

Maddy parts her lips slightly, a smile slowly growing on her face. “You did all of this for me?”

 

She knows Brett is looking at Henry in confusion behind her, but Henry knows her. He knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

Clint nods. “I knew you couldn’t stand to be with him.”

 

She purses her lips and nods. “He does hate horror movies.” She reaches for the hammer and grabs the hammer. Before Brett or any of the other officers can take it from her, she slams the butt of the hammer into Clint’s skull. He crumples to the ground, howling in pain.

 

Brett whistles lowly and follows the officers to her.

 

Clint whimpers, cradling his head in his hand. “Why the hell would you do that?”

 

She leans forward. Brett holds her back. “Because you hurt my husband. No one – I repeat,  _ no one _ – gets to do that to my husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> (Should I write a separate fic wherein Henry has a shattered kneecap and walks with a limp for the rest of his life? Because I'm tempted)


	3. Innocence Forgotten (Why Did It Have to Be Him?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn requested: **"Hey, hey, calm down. He can't hurt you anymore."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is the saddest out of all of them in my opinion. Attempted child rape, but it's stopped immediately. Don't read it if that'll be triggering for you. Take care of yourself.

It was supposed to be a normal day.

 

See, the thing is, since both Henry and Maddy work at the police station, going to pick up Shawn from school is sometimes difficult to accomplish. Maddy might be in the middle of a session gone long or helping the police profile a suspect. Henry, well…he could be doing anything between paperwork to stakeouts to chasing down criminals to ending up in the hospital. Together, they don’t have the money to pay for a nanny, and besides, Shawn loves hanging out with Gus.

 

So what usually happens is Mrs. Guster picks up both Shawn and her son from school, takes them to the park in between both of their houses, and watches them until either Henry or Maddy gets off from work.

 

Shawn was just supposed to be at the park, running around, causing mischief and mayhem.

 

Instead, Henry got the call that there was a 207 at Hexington Park. Victim was a male, Caucasian, approximately eight years old, brown hair, hazel eyes, wearing a Santa Barbara Police Department shirt. Henry doesn’t need the description to know that it’s his son. He can hear Winnie Guster’s desperation through the operator. And even still, even if that desperation hadn’t been there, he might have been able to distance himself, might have been able to convince himself that it was some other poor kid that was kidnapped at the park, but then he hears that the kid was wearing an SBPD t-shirt. There are very, very few children who match that description and own a t-shirt like that.

 

Henry stands up from his desk and Maddy rushes out of her conference room. Her eyes frantically search the bullpen while she pushes her hands through her hair. “Henry!” she says, weaving her way between the other officers. He grabs her hands, but instead of looking at her, he studies Herb.

 

She squeezes his hands. “Is it– it’s Shawn, isn’t it?”

 

Henry clenches his jaw and slowly turns his face to look at her. Tears shimmer in her wide eyes, and she bites her bottom lip.

 

He sighs. “There’s no one else who matches that description.” Pulling her close to him, he wraps his arms around her. “I promise, I will do everything I can to get our son back.” He presses a kiss to her head. “I’ve got to go talk to Herb about getting on this case.”

 

She buries her face into his chest. “He won’t let you. You’re emotionally compromised.”

 

Henry smiles tightly and pulls away from his wife. “Just because you and I know that it’s Shawn doesn’t mean that they do.”

 

She smiles sadly at him. “I don’t need to be a psychologist to see that you’re emotionally compromised. They’re going to notice it, too.”

 

He brings her hands up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “I’ll work the case alone if I have to, but I’m going to save our son, Maddy. I’ll be damned if I don’t.”

 

*

 

For the first time in his life, Shawn can’t see anything. He wonders briefly if his eyes are closed, but he wrenches them open as soon as the thought passes through his head, and the world is still black in front of him. Someone pushes his back, and he stumbles forward, arms stretched out to catch himself.

 

Shawn licks his lips and tilts his head to the side. For the first time in his life, he’s glad that his father took time out of both of their days to give him one of his survival lessons. He has always relied on his sight for every moment of his life (except for the ones where he was sleeping), but he can’t see what’s in front of him, and that scares him. It would scare him even more if his dad never taught him to listen, smell, and feel for what else is happening.

 

The ground slopes beneath his feet, and the man behind him roughly grabs his arm to keep him from falling face first into the dirt. Tall grass brushes against Shawn’s bare shins, and the man slows his steps. Rocks and dirt slide down the slope with each step the two of them take. Shawn can neither smell gasoline nor asphalt. The grass smells almost sweet, but the man next to him smells like sweat and garbage. There’s another smell, something that is definitely unique to this man, but Shawn never smelled it before, so he can’t quite identify what it is.

 

At the end of the slope, the man roughly shoves him forward. Shawn stumbles forward, but the man shoves him again, and he trips over a patch of thick grass and falls forward.

 

He has no idea what the man is planning to do, but it can’t be a good thing. He starts crawling forward, grabbing tufts of grass for extra leverage. The man growls and tries to grab Shawn’s ankles, but Shawn kicks against the man’s grimy fingers.

 

The man curses under his breath, steps over Shawn’s torso, grabs his sides, and flips him onto his back. Shawn writhes, but his face stings, and he gasps for air.

 

He’s never been slapped before.

 

Neither of his parents have ever laid a hand on him in anger, nor in fear. If they touch him, it’s always a gentle touch or something more routine. His face hurts, and he wants to run, but he is frozen from the shock of being slapped.

 

The man bends over, his stinky breath fanning over Shawn’s chest. Shawn remembers that maybe he should be trying to get away, but the man grabs Shawn’s the top band of Shawn’s shorts and begins taking them off.

 

Shawn squeezes his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling way too fast. He keeps trying to get more breaths in like it will calm his fear, but it just makes him more scared. “Fuck,” he says quietly. If his dad were here, he might get in trouble for using that word, but he thinks it might be useful in this situation. Or justified. Yeah, that’s the word. Justified.

 

The man grunts. “Shut up, pipsqueak.”

 

Maybe it’s better to listen to the man. Maybe if he does, he won’t get hurt. Shawn fists his hands in the tufts of grass, but when he feels the man tug his zipper down, that thought process flies from his mind, and he screams as loud as he can.

 

The man slaps a hand over his mouth. “What did I tell you, kid? Keep your trap shut!”

 

Shawn brings his knee up and knees the man as hard as he can in the crotch. The man grunts again, and in a desperate attempt to scream again, Shawn bites the man’s hand. The man swears, pulls his hand away, and Shawn screams again.

 

He can’t see if anyone is coming to rescue him. He doesn’t expect anyone to.

 

He can tell, though, that the bad man no longer looms over him. He hears grunts to his left side, and he rolls onto his stomach, reaches up, and unties the blindfold.

 

A young blonde lady kicks the man in the ribs, holding her fist into the air. “How fucking sick  _ are _ you, you bastard?” She slams her fist into the man’s head, and Shawn can’t help but smirk when she does. “He’s a little kid!” She grabs the man by the shirt, hauls him up, and sends her fist flying into the man’s nose. Blood spurts out of it. “And don’t you dare fucking  _ rape _ someone!”

 

Shawn pushes himself backwards, getting as far away from the bad man as possible without letting the lady see him with his shorts down.

 

She shoves the man to the ground and kicks him in the ribs again. “I swear to fucking God, if you lay a fucking  _ finger _ on that poor child again, I will find you and I will fucking bash your skull in. If you lay a fucking finger on any other child, I will find you and I will fucking bash your skull in.” Even though Shawn can’t see her face, he knows that she smiles sweetly. “Is that clear?”

 

The man whimpers and nods. “Got it.”

 

“Good.” She grabs him by his shirt again, hauls him to his feet, and slams her forehead into his head. He crumples into her arms, and she steps away, letting him fall to the ground. “What a fucking bastard,” she says, shaking her head.

 

As she turns around, Shawn hurriedly buttons his shorts and tugs the zipper back up. The lady walks carefully over to him and kneels a few feet in front of him.

 

His hands are shaking.

 

She smiles gently at him. “Hey, there.” She waves at him. “My name is Karen. I heard you scream.” Karen points to the top of the ditch. “I live nearby, and I’m going to run to my house as fast as I can and I’m going to call the police.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “That guy is out cold. He can’t wake up in the time it’ll take me to get back here.”

 

Shawn licks his lips. “You’re not going to hurt me like he was going to, are you?”

 

Karen shakes her head. “You’re safe now.” She stands up. “I’ll be back soon. You stay here so the police can come for you, okay?”

 

He nods. “Okay.”

 

*

 

Henry blinks quickly, squeezing Maddy’s hand. She curls into his side. “Is our little boy going to be okay?” she whispers.

 

He clenches his jaw and glances out of the conference room. “I don’t know,” he says. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to admit. He wants his son to be okay. He wants that more than anything. “I don’t know, Mad.”

 

The chief runs to the doors and pushes them open. “Henry, Madeleine.” He gasps and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “We just got a call from a kid on 121st Street saying that there’s a kid matching Shawn’s description in a ditch.”

 

Henry feels like he just got punched in the stomach.

 

Maddy’s other hand curls into his skin.

 

Herb furrows his brow. “Oh, he’s not dead! He’s perfectly fine, thanks to her. We’re sending a unit out to the area, and we were wondering if you guys wanted to tag along.”

 

They both stand so quickly that their chairs scrape the floor beneath them. “What kind of question is that?” Henry asks, grabbing his jacket.

 

Before they can run out the door, Herb holds out a hand. “It was an attempted rape, Henry. The man is already out cold. The girl admits to it. She heard your son scream for help, and she ran into the ditch, where she saw him standing over Shawn. She knocked him away and pummeled him until he was out cold.”

 

Henry sets his jaw, and his eyes harden. “Yeah, well, it’s my turn to beat that son of a bitch.”

 

Herb sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Henry, I get it. But you can’t do that. You can’t trade your freedom for that.”

 

Maddy squeezes Henry’s hand. “Herb’s right, Henry.”

 

Henry gulps. “He almost raped my son, Herb. You’ve got to understand that.” His voice is so quiet that it barely reaches his own ears. He has no idea if either Herb or Maddy heard him.

 

Herb nods. “I know. But your son is going to be there, watching you, and I think he would rather know that you’re always going to be there to protect him rather than hurting an enemy already down.”

 

Henry sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to my son.”

 

*

 

The other officers come to the ditch first.

 

Captain Connors is the first one to make it down the ditch, and he stops at the bottom, torn between shoving that man into the back of his cruiser and making life a living hell for him or comforting his godson. Since Jack roughly grabs the unconscious pedophile from the ground, Brett decides that it’s best to go and comfort Shawn, considering that there are no other familiar faces.

 

The girl who called in the tip glares at all of the police officers, judging how safe Shawn is by his reactions. When Shawn sees Brett, he sits up straighter and looks around for Henry.

 

Brett winces and kneels in front of Shawn. “Your parents are on their way, buddy. I got a radio from your father right before I left the cruiser.”

 

Shawn bites his lip. “Why did it take them longer?”

 

Brett sighs and takes off his police hat, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Because the chief had to tell him what we knew, and we wanted to make sure that there was no one left for your dad to beat up.” He smiles softly. “Because your dad would. If he knew anyone tried to hurt you, he would get them just as hard. You’re his son, and he’ll do anything to protect you.”

 

Shawn twists the hem of his shirt. “Was Daddy allowed to be part of the case?”

 

Brett shakes his head. “No. Your father was going to be emotionally compromised, and it could have hurt our chances of finding you before anything happened. He wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t allowed to be.” He wants to squeeze Shawn’s shoulder in reassurance, but after a man just tried to rape him, Brett’s pretty sure that Shawn is averse to any man other than Henry touching him for a while. His eyes slide to the blonde girl sitting next to Shawn. “And who are you?”

 

The girl narrows her eyes at him. “I’m Karen Dunlap. I called in the tip.”

 

Brett smirks. “Well, Karen, you got that guy pretty good.”

 

She ducks her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Well, I– I have a little sister, and I was just– I guess I lost it.”

 

Brett glances over his shoulder and leans closer. “Between you and me, Karen, I’m glad you beat that motherfucker to a pulp. Saves me the trouble. Saves Sergeant Spencer the trouble. Lets us keep our jobs, and it kept him safe. So good job.” He points to Lou Gamble. “But you should give your statement to an officer. I’ll stay with Shawn until his parents get here.”

 

Karen glances at Shawn. “Is that okay?”

 

Shawn bites his thumbnail. “After my dad, I feel safest with Captain Connors.”

 

Karen purses her lips and nods slowly. “Okay,” she says, standing up. She brushes the dirt off her pants. “But if you get uncomfortable, just call for me, and I’ll protect you.”

 

Shawn ducks his head and smiles to himself.

 

“Shawn!”

 

He lifts his head at the sound of his father, and Brett turns around to see Henry slide down the ditch. He would scold Henry for not helping his wife down, but Maddy materializes at his side and pulls Shawn into a hug.

 

“Oh, thank God, you’re okay.” She presses kisses to his head.

 

Henry skids to a stop in front of his family. “Shawn? Are you alright?”

 

Maddy hesitantly lets go of her son and rocks back onto her heels. Shawn throws himself into his father’s arms and clutches his shirt in both fists. “He tried to hurt me.”

 

Henry nods and pulls Shawn close to him, cupping the back of his head with his hand. “I know, son. I heard.”

 

Shawn shakes his head and openly sobs into his father’s shirt. “N-no. He- he started unbut-unbuttoning my shor- _ shorts. _ ” He turns his face and cries more quietly. “I’m so-sorry.”

 

Henry closes his eyes tightly and presses a kiss to his son’s head. “Listen, to me, Shawn: it’s not your fault.”

 

“I-I was running around the pla-playground, and I went where Mrs. Guster could-couldn’t s- _ see _ me, and that’s where the man took m-me.”

 

Henry slowly starts rocking Shawn back and forth. “Hey, hey, calm down. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He buries his nose in Shawn’s hair. “I’m here. He can’t get you anymore. I’ll protect you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews and kudos are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Like it, love it, hate it? Leave a comment below or go to my tumblr, @ my-glasses-are-dirty, and tell me what you think!


End file.
